


Censura

by imochan



Series: Interluda Series [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Gen, Hogwarts Era, M/M, MWPP, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-22 01:54:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2490191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imochan/pseuds/imochan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Immediately following The Hug, from the other side of the house. 1979.</p>
<p>(originally written for LJ in 2004)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Censura

**Author's Note:**

> The Interluda Series was originally written in 2004.

Remus says something, and the screen door creaks. The record is winding down, warped-quality whine of  _yes I got the world on a string and I'm sitting on a rainbow_  and Peter puts a hand to the fresh, blue wallpaper, where there’s a dent, and he can’t remember whether it’s from the in-house Quidditch, or when Sirius threw that textbook down the stairs (at his head), or something else he was never a part of.   
  
I’m going to start hearing things, he thinks -  _that string around my finger what a world_  - probably, when the music stops. Or maybe, he thinks, rather dully, almost bewildered, I’ll start crying.   
  
 _oh what a life what a world_  and Sirius’s voice just under the crackle of the music, and Peter grips the glass of water with both hands, and sits on the bottom step, against the railing, and hates Sirius, quietly, desperately, until he wants to shove a foot through a wall or punch him back, for once. But the hallway mirror – which is quiet, mostly, except for when it hums along with the chorus – shows some flab, and useless pale fingers, and a loose curl of a small-nosed, small-handed stupid pale boy, and he closes his eyes and presses his forehead to the railing.   
  
Peter realizes he liked it better when the record was skipping. His heartbeat was on repeat, and nothing went forward, so nothing when backwards, either and everything was so  _still_.   
  
When the music stopped, before, he’d craned forward, palms to the wallpaper and watched Remus’s back; the way that Remus paused, the sickening bend of his bared neck, the thin curl of his white fingers, and the way Peter knew how painful each heartbeat felt, and didn’t want to, couldn’t, because Remus was always just that much easier when you didn’t have to understand him.   
  
 _what a life_ , the record croons, and Peter opens his eyes.  _I’m in love_ , and Peter sees the way they’re standing in the back doorway, when he looks through the railing. A watery chill runs up his spine, over his wrists; he used to feel this way when he watched his parents have Grown-Up Discussions in the kitchen after his bedtime.   
  
He doesn’t notice when the music fades, because he sees something strange in the fact that they’re so – with, he thinks, maybe – so  _with_  each other they don’t notice him.   
  
Oh, he thinks, suddenly.  _Ah._    
  
They’ve always been that way.   
  
There’s the sound of footsteps on the gravel path. He turns back, and Lily’s hair, through the window, catches the sun and flings it back into his eyes, until it stings. He stands, and goes to open the door for them (Lily, and James trailing like a solid shadow), and his foot knocks over the glass of water, and his sweaty fingers fumble on the handle, until he’s standing half-in, half-out, awkwardly waiting with his elbow against the screen - eyes averted - and every length of his skin tingling, his worth in the balance, the tiniest slip of power underneath his tongue.

\---

[imo @ lj](http://imochan.livejournal.com/)   
[myuntreatedstate @ tumblr ](http://myuntreatedstate.tumblr.com/) 


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